And leaves a rosy track behind.
O sun-bright maiden, choose and say,
Whither shall we two sail to-day?
Our hold with love-apples is stored,
And all strange fruits, a goodly hoard;
A wingèd boy sits at the prow,
Pointing our path with beaming eye
And smile of deepest mystery;
A wreath of myrtle crowns his brow.
O sun-bright maiden, choose and say,